


of sleep debt;

by entanglement



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, probably the worst possible scenario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglement/pseuds/entanglement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one day after, one week after, one month after</p>
            </blockquote>





	of sleep debt;

.  
(one day later)

  


The last memory before this exact moment swims through Will's brain, an unseen creature in murky waters. It's possible it's a catfish, happy in the mud to just eat crawfish and earthworms, but it's also just as possible it's a gator, waiting for a chance at its own prey.

He feels the metaphor breaking free of him like a fish escaping off a line with bait or a dog off a leash disappearing into the trees. Whatever. Too much time with Hannibal always makes him sound like a fucking wandering poet, desperate to color the banalities. The reality is that he just doesn't remember why he is where he is. There's no art to that. 

He leaves his meandering thoughts on the pillow as he sits up in the strange room and turns the oiled wick further up into the top chamber of the lantern on the bedside table to cast a wider glow into the room. He finds old, well used things: sheets thin with wear on the bed, a dusty rug jutting out from under the bed, an old rifle against the wall and Abigail sitting in the rocking chair at the corner of the room with a handmade quilt spread out over her lap. He'd be lying to himself if he said she wasn't well used too.

"I guess you're stuck with him," she says. There are tears in her eyes that well up enough to tip over her eyelids and drip down onto the quilt in her lap. She traces the crooked stitching along one of the patches and Will considers moving towards her to rest a hand on her shoulder to console her, but he stays at the bed. Watching. 

"I guess so."

"I'm starting to think this is what you wanted. Just dying together wouldn't be enough."

Her eyes raise to his and they're angrier. He can't really argue with that and not sound like a hypocrite, so he slides from the bed and picks up the rifle and the lantern before he leaves the room. Abigail might be an extension of whatever conscience survived killing Francis Dolarhyde, but it won't help him now. Not where he's undoubtedly heading. It's best to let the guilt slough off him now. 

A few steps out into the hall, he hears her add, "This is what you deserve."

The space outside of the room gives a sense of how large the house is, because when he lifts it over the railing and out into the room the loft space overlooks, still illuminates nothing aside from a little bit more the the ceiling before it stretches into darkness as well. It must be a new moon out tonight, because the darkness feels endless. Unyielding. The only other light in sight is at a room further down the hall and Will drifts towards it, rifle in hand. He turns into the doorway to find Hannibal sitting up in bed, reading from an old book.

"I couldn't sleep either," he says. He closes his book and looks up to see a gun leveled at him, but doesn't flinch. "I suppose I have several unanswered questions that I was too eager to ask, but considering that you currently have a gun pointed at me, I assume you'll be directing the conversation."

"Where are we?"

That's when Hannibal's even, calm expression wavers just slightly. Will can see the answer churning through his mind. "That's unsettling. I thought you'd know."

"We're not the only people in the house then."

"That's an intelligent theory. I've been awake for the last day or so and no one has been here. Except for us, of course."

Will seems to suddenly remember he's got the gun on Hannibal and he lowers it, continuing into the room to sit on the bed beside Hannibal to continue formulating theories. 

"Someone rescued us. They brought us here and patched us up and obviously, we killed them," Will mutters as he rubs at the uninjured side of his face.

"An even more delightful theory, but I refuse to believe my mind would edit out such a nice memory."

Hannibal smiles. Will doesn't. They sit in silence for another minute or two.

"I'm thankful for whatever has happened to bring us here to this moment, Will," Hannibal says, breaking the awkward silence, "I may redirect the current as it flows downstream, but I don't feel the need to follow it back upstream to see the source. Not until the fish go belly up."

He's still grinning, teeth showing like an alligator and it's likely he feels the same satisfaction with his metaphor that an alligator feels pulling its prey underwater to drown.

"I'm just not convinced we ran into this much good luck," Will says. He switches hands to touch the injured side of his face and presses slightly at the gauze to feel the stitches. He's thankful for the sharp pinch of pain that follows, because it's reassurance he's not dreaming, but unease bleeds into the corners of his vision like a nightmare and the glow of the lantern in the room barely seems to touch the darkness surrounding them. He glances at Hannibal briefly and then down at his other hand in his lap. "Could I stay here tonight?"

"Of course," Hannibal says.

Will slides in under the covers and turns towards the lantern to watch the flame shudder inside. For the first time in a very long time, it feels alright to have his back turned to Hannibal.

  


.  
(one week later)

  


The light of morning doesn't ease the tension. It's just a momentary respite from the darkness to come when the sun eases its way back down to give way to night.

The house isn't a house, but a bed and breakfast overlooking the shore about a mile away from the cliff they fell from. The power and water are out, likely for the off season, but emergency supplies are sufficient enough for a little while. The pantry is pretty empty too, save some leftover dry supplies and bottled water, but it's not enough to keep them fed past a week. It's baffling enough that they've managed to go a full week without a search party showing up at the door, but after days here, they're pushing it on supplies. Neither of them are healthy enough for what could be a few miles of walking, but that doesn't stop them from making the attempt.

"Maybe we'll meet an unlucky motorist," Hannibal says with that same toothy grin once they're off the gravel path and onto the main road.

"Maybe," Will replies.

Will mentally prepares for the possibility, but it never comes. After a three mile walk with no cars in sight, they find a 7-11 sign glowing orange and green in the distance. It's a welcome sight for Will, but he can feel Hannibal's disgust with the possibility of having to eat one of the sickly looking hot dogs that's been turning on a heater for who knows how long. The thought of it makes Will burst out with laughter, but he waves off Hannibal's attention instead of explaining. 

The parking lot only holds a beat up, red Nissan Pulsar parked at an angle at the far end of the lot, likely the possession of the bored teenager they'll find inside, gazing at their cell phone, but once inside, they find the dingy store empty. They wait, pacing the aisles past the cellophane wrapped cakes, candies and cup noodles, but no one ever returns. 

"Maybe they forgot to lock up," Will says with a shrug. 

Hannibal doesn't reply. He simply watches Will in the next aisle over the shelf between them for a long, awkward moment.

"Yes?" Will asks.

"You don't know how to speak to me anymore," Hannibal says.

Will holds his gaze, denying his usual habit of averting his eyes to hide his face. "The words are harder to find, yes."

"The things you want to say to me are clear. You're complicating them. Silence won't help you find the closure you need to move on."

"I didn't expect any further conversation between the two of us."

"Maybe not complicating them then," Hannibal muses to himself as he glances down to survey the very small selection of canned meats on the shelf, "maybe you've realized you're disgusted by them, but you've already gone too far to change your mind."

"It isn't that I've gone too far. You don't handle rejection well."

Hannibal smiles again as he briefly considers caving in Will's skull with a can of tuna, but he opts instead for a slightly more polite response, "You haven't rejected me yet."

"Yet. I'm worried about sustainability."

"Nothing is sustainable. Everything rots. Everything crumbles."

"Good point, but you don't build a house out of rotten wood, do you?"

Will's side of the argument is good enough to Hannibal to lapse into thoughtful silence for at least a little while. They finish filling their basket with the most edible items from inside the store, but when they bring it up to the counter, there's still no clerk. They both strain to listen for the sound of a siren in the distance, but there's nothing to hint at a panicked employee in the back, clutching their cell phone as they wait for the police to rescue them from whatever Freddie Lounds is calling them this week. Hannibal disappears into the back room for a moment, but only returns with a shrug and the VHS tape from the surveillance camera. Will shrugs too and scoops the basket off the counter, but he also takes the keys on the other side of the register and leads them out into the parking lot to the Nissan. It reeks of pot smoke and spilled red bulls inside, but it's better than a walk.

The road is still empty on the drive back and the time on the dash only reads 7:26PM, so they continue on past the gravel road up to the cabin to see what lies in the other direction. They pass through a small neighborhood first with lights on inside houses and TVs broadcasting static to empty sofas. Time passes in what feels like a normal pace as Will drives past empty mini malls and grocery store parking lots. He passes a shopping mall with cars spotting the lots, but no one walking the aisles, holding up the key fob as they click at it and wait for the response from their car. There's no one idling at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to cross when Will pulls to a red light at the intersection. No one. Nothing. He turns into the parking lot of a Wal-Mart, parks in the fire lane and steps up to the doors and finds they only slide open to no one. They're alone.

Hannibal's laugh and static on the radio pour from the window as he rolls it down.

"You do if there's nothing but rotting wood," he says before another burst of laughter spills from him.

  


.  
(one month later)

  


Shortly after the discovery, they ditch the Nissan for an RV in a large lot off the side of the highway. Will points out there aren't any cars out on the highway and that it doesn't make sense for it to be empty when all of the parking lots they pass have cars outside. He points out that the power grid and other utilities can't operate forever unsupervised. Hannibal is patient as he anxiously checks the radio every once in awhile, just in case they wander into the broadcast area for a radio station that's broadcasting another human voice, but it's all static on the way to D.C.

The capital is dead. So is Philadelphia, New York City and Boston. They turn back and drive down through Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Indianapolis, but it's all the same. Hannibal's patience persists as they continue down through the flat, open fields of Ohio to Cincinnati, but when Will idly mentions they should just drive the RV into the Ohio River, he gets a look from the other man that suggests he'd rather not relive that sort of thing. It's a month since their drive up to D.C. and Will claims he's not done searching, but they end up at the Cincinnatian instead, looking through room keys until they find ones that open up the suites on the top floor.

"This is how most people would spend their solitude, isn't it?" Hannibal says as they ride the elevator up to their rooms.

"It can't be that satisfying for you."

"Elaborate, please."

"People would probably choose luxuries they couldn't afford in their previous lives, but you're a hedonist, Hannibal. Unapologetically so. A luxury hotel isn't a new experience for you."

"Then it's satisfying that I can maintain my hedonism in whatever universe we've fallen into."

Will shoots a skeptical look towards Hannibal over his shoulder as he swipes the room key and lets them both inside. He flicks on the lights to the spacious room, but finds he's not very satisfied either. Even with Hannibal as a constant companion, he feels a pang of loneliness. He crosses the room to pull open the curtains and look out on the street below and the lack of people walking along the street only magnifies the ache. Hannibal joins him at the window to glance out onto the street too and Will's gaze wanders up to him.

It's hard to prove that you do really want to kiss someone when they literally are the only human being available to kiss at the moment. Will attempts this anyway. The second room key is left on the desk beside the window and forgotten.

"Are we dead?" Will asks later. The deep humming calm of post-sex seems like the best time to ask.

"Suppose we are. What would you call this then?" Hannibal asks. 

"I wasn't looking for a thought experiment."

"Neither was I. I was looking for an honest observation."

Will almost huffs in frustration, but hides the sound in the rustle of sheets as he slides closer to Hannibal and rests his head against his chest.

"If I'm dead and this is the afterlife, I may not necessarily be communicating with you at all," Will says as his hand trails up Hannibal's chest to the side of his neck.

Hannibal continues the thought, "Souls don't exist."

"Right. I'm not meeting you in the afterlife. I'm meeting my own concept of you. The you I thought you would be under the circumstances,"

"That still doesn't answer my question."

Will feels himself start to doze, but he forces his eyes open and breathes out a soft, "Hm?"

"Is that Heaven or Hell?"

It's Hell. Clearly it's Hell, but it's too depressing to admit. Will reaches for the light and switches it off.

"Go to sleep, Hannibal."


End file.
